Burdens of Command
by oneship
Summary: The end of the Dominion War comes with a heavy price for Jean-Luc Picard and the crew of the Enterprise. A newly-signed treaty between the Federation and the Cardassians leads to an exchange of prisoners; an exchange that not only re-opens the scars caused by events on Celtris III, but threatens to finish what Gul Madred began all those years ago.
1. Chapter 1

Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat facing the panel of admirals and couldn't help wondering precisely what his next mission entailed that it would require, not only an in-person briefing but, a formal sitting of six of Starfleet's highest-ranking officers. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he reasoned the mission wasn't likely to be simple or pleasant.

Of course, thanks to the Dominion War, none of his missions had been simple or pleasant in years.

He sighed and shifted in his seat, growing impatient with the silent scrutiny of the men and women sitting across from him. Admiral Peters—the one supposedly in charge of the briefing—continued to scroll through data on a PADD, seemingly oblivious to those around him. Admirals T'Krul and Shinzuki kept exchanging nervous glances and refused to meet his gaze; an act that not only surprised but concerned him. They'd been colleagues, almost friends, for decades.

He studied the other two senior officers at the table. These men he knew only by reputation. Admiral Beauregard idly scratched at the scar running through his beard as he studied Picard with equal scrutiny. Beauregard had been in command of the _Lincoln_ when the Borg entered the Sol system. He'd sacrificed his ship on the outskirts of the system to buy the rest of the fleet the precious time it needed to mount a defence.

Picard swallowed. Rationally, he knew he was not responsible for what Locutus had done, but no amount of counselling or therapy would ever remove from his soul the stain of all those lives lost. Not only had he provided the Borg with the information they needed to decimate hundreds of ships, he'd choreographed the entire battle.

Admiral Peters set the PADD on the table and cleared his throat, bringing Picard back to the present.

"Captain Picard," Peters said, "let me begin by stating your service—and that of your crew—to Starfleet during the Dominion War has been exemplary."

"Thank you, sir."

"So, it is with genuine reluctance that I must assign this mission to the _Enterprise_." The admiral paused and checked his notes again. "We cannot begin to describe the level of relief that has come from the defeat of the Dominion and the return to peace in the Alpha Quadrant. You, of all people, know how perilously close we came to losing the war."

Picard nodded. The _Enterprise_ had been in the thick of the action more times than he'd like to recall. When they weren't, he'd been tasked with the daunting responsibility of bringing as many potential allies into the fray as possible. Allies, including the Romulans.

"The result of the war, however," Peters said, "has left the Federation severely weakened. I would deny ever saying this, but it's on the verge of collapse."

Picard's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes," Peters said, noting Picard's expression. "We suffered far greater damage than has been publicly acknowledged. And now, with the Romulans having annexed more of the quadrant…"

"It was my understanding that Ambassador Spock is working with the Romulan Empire to agree to terms outlining a new Neutral Zone."

Peters nodded. "Still, they came through the war far less damaged than we did. Aside from the worlds completely destroyed by the Dominion, only the Cardassians are worse off than we are."

"I see." Picard's pulse quickened and he clenched his jaw. War makes for strange bedfellows, he knew, but he'd never trusted the alliance between the Cardassians and the Federation. In his experience, he'd found people who changed sides once could only be relied on for one thing: to do so again.

He took a deep breath and released it. His distrust of the Cardassians went deeper than their actions during the Dominion War, and he forced himself to set his bias aside. They'd been instrumental in bringing the war to a close—losing over eight hundred million of their own people and nearly obliterating their homeworld when the Dominion retaliated—and their sacrifice could not be belittled.

"So now the rebuilding begins," Peters said. "And part of that process involves re-establishing ties with our member worlds and," the admiral cleared his throat, "firming up connections with new allies.

"To that effect, we are tasking the _Enterprise_ with the duty of conducting a diplomatic exchange between the Federation and Cardassia. The treaty—and membership in the Federation—has been signed, and now it's time for us to match our actions to our words."

_What the devil did we agree to?_ Picard wondered. His morning coffee congealed into a hard lump in his stomach as Peters grimaced.

"As per the treaty, we are required to turn over several Maquis—what remains of the terrorist group—and close to a dozen Dominion sympathizers." Picard's heart lurched. "They will be tried by the Cardassians and, if found guilty, sentenced."

Picard couldn't breathe. The walls seemed to collapse in on him. He knew—more intimately than anyone in this room—just what being held by the Cardassians would mean for those people.

"In exchange, we will take custody of several Guls who, based on our best information, were engaged in the most egregious violations of personal rights during the war." Peters tilted his head as he studied Picard's apparent distress. "Rest assured, Captain, they will be tried to the fullest extent. They will pay for what they've done."

_Not so dearly as those going the other way_, he thought. He stared at the admirals at the table. No wonder they didn't want to make eye contact. He couldn't think of a more distasteful mission.

The flagship of the Federation sent to deliver men and women to their deaths—swift ones, he hoped—in order to firm up a diplomatic agreement… He clenched his jaw.

Peace bought and paid for with blood.

Picard suppressed a shudder as he asked, "Which Guls?" He didn't want to ask, but he had to know.

Admiral Shinzuki met his gaze for the first time. Her rich brown eyes were sympathetic and the tiny downturn at the corners of her lips showed she understood some of his turmoil. Her voice trilled like water over river stones as she spoke, "There are nine. Gul Mul'kat, Gul Orent, Gul Feralt, Gul Ch'Esh, Gul Golend, Gul Dukest, Gul Purant, Gul Y'Lord, and Gul Ma—"

_Please, no._ Picard held his breath.

"Gul Ma'Dern," Shinzuki finished. She gave him a soft smile. "We could not make any official demands, but we were reliably informed that Gul Madred was killed during the Dominion's destruction of the Obsidian Order. He's gone, Jean-Luc."

Picard nodded and closed his eyes. He fought to bring his roiling emotions under control. He thought—believed—he'd recovered from his imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Cardassian Gul, but the sweat on his palms and the viscous oil coating the back of his throat indicated otherwise.

"Come now," said Admiral Beauregard, "surely the hero of Wolf 359 can handle a little diplomatic mission?"

Picard's gaze whipped to the man, and he shivered at the malice in the other man's eyes. "I am no hero," he said, keeping his voice low.

"No," Beauregard, agreed. "You're not. You are single-handedly responsible for the loss of millions of lives, the destruction of planets, the—"

"Enough!" Peters interrupted. "The captain was cleared of all charges stemming from the Borg invasion more than a decade ago! If you cannot keep your vitriol to yourself, you can leave. Is that clear?"

Beauregard glared at Peters, seemed to want to say something but then thought better of it. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He made no effort to hide his loathing as he stared at Picard.

"Captain, I apologize for my colleague's outburst. It was unprofessional."

Picard took a breath. "Wolf 359 is a traumatic moment in our history. There are many who still struggle for closure." _Including me_.

Peters nodded, accepting Picard's words.

"Sir? If I may clarify the mission parameters?"

"Go ahead."

"You want me to round up a group of people—"

"All but three of those on the list are already in custody, and those three—I am certain—will go without a fuss."

Picard nodded. "Then you want me to transport these prisoners to Cardassia Prime for trial and sentencing, at which point I will collect nine Guls and return them here for a similar fate?"

"No," Peters said.

"No?" Picard frowned in confusion. "Sir?"

"Not you. The _Enterprise_."

"Sir, I—"

Admiral Peters let out a breath in a rush and gripped the PADD on the table as he found his voice. "Captain Picard, by order of the Governing Council of the United Federation of Planets, I do hereby relieve you of command of the _USS Enterprise_ and order you and your fellow officers to stand trial for your crimes against the Cardassian Empire during your unauthorized trespass of Celtris III."


	2. Chapter 2

Picard bolted from his chair. "How dare you!"

"Sit down, Captain!" Peters bellowed, but Picard refused to obey.

"Starfleet sent us on that mission! The Admiralty _ordered_ my crew to investigate!"

"Sit!"

"With all due respect, sir, I cannot—and will not—stand for this! As a Starfleet officer I have protection under the Military Services Act for any and all missions I am required to undertake as ordered, regardless of whether those orders violate diplomatic treaties!"

"Captain, will you please be seated?" Peters demanded. "Allow me to explain."

Picard sank into his chair, his mind stuttering in shock.

"Under normal circumstances you—and those who assisted you—would never be held responsible for your actions under orders, assuming you followed the spirit of the assignment and did not deviate from it for personal gain or malicious reasons."

Picard's chest ached where Madred's pain implant had been removed. He certainly hadn't gained anything from the experience other than two years of therapy and hundreds of nightmares.

"But, these circumstances are anything but normal. The Dominion War—"

"Is over!"

"Yes, but the Romulans remain a bigger threat than ever before. The Federation needs this alliance with the Cardassians."

It hit him then. They needed the deal with the Cardassians more than they needed to uphold their own values: Values the treaty was designed to strengthen. After everything he'd sacrificed for Starfleet, for the Federation, and its ideals… The weight of the betrayal threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs.

"The Cardassians negotiated with us in good faith," Peters continued. "We have no choice but to honor their demands. After all, Starfleet admitted you were on Celtris III."

Picard winced.

"If we hadn't, we never would have got you out." Peters said. "We apologized for the incursion, and the situation was swept under a diplomatic rug. We never thought—"

"We never expected them to demand justice; especially not more than a decade later," Admiral Shinzuki said, twisting her slender fingers. "Had we known…" Her words trailed off as she shook her head.

"So, now I am to be stripped of my rank, my command, my ship – in order to stand trial for a crime I was ordered to commit?"

He forced the beginnings of memories of his imprisonment on Celtris III back into the recesses of his mind. If he let them out here, if he allowed himself to think of what lay ahead, he would go insane.

Peters shook his head. "You have been stripped of your ship and command, but not your rank, Captain. The Cardassians were very specific. They want to try the illustrious Captain Picard, not a disgraced former officer."

"You, and the two crew who assisted with your insertion, were the crux of the negotiations," Shinzuki said. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"If you would officially give us the names of the other crew members, we can complete the manifest and get this over with," Admiral T'Krul said, speaking for the first time. "The Cardassians are not known for their patience."

"No," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" Peters said, scowling.

Picard sat straighter. He would not let his mind conjure images of Worf and Beverly-_dear God, not Beverly_-in Cardassian hands. Not here. Not now. He'd already lived with those nightmares. "No, I will not divulge the identities of _anyone_ who may or may not have accompanied me on that mission."

"This is an outrage!" Beauregard shouted. "You will do as ordered!"

Picard bristled. "Or you'll do what?" he demanded.

Beauregard leaned forward as though he wanted to grab Picard from across the table. "Insubordination! You'll give us those names, or I'll have you on charges so fast your Borg-addled brain will spin."

"I think not," Picard said, as a coldness settled in his veins. "I will _not_ divulge their identities. And you will ensure the Cardassians remove that demand from this agreement."

"You will not dictate terms here, Captain!"

"I can and I will," Picard said, his voice ice. "Admiral Peters has made it clear the Cardassians don't just want me, they want _Captain_ Picard. They want to destroy the reputation more than the man." He swallowed. He had to push through. He had to secure protection for Worf and Beverly. He allowed a bitter chuckle to escape before adding, "Given my current fate, I would gladly accept your charge of insubordination, its accompanying court martial, and a dishonorable discharge from Starfleet."

"You impudent dog! We should have drummed you out years ago."

Peters pressed his hand into Beauregard's forearm.

"You need to send them 'Captain Picard,'" Picard said, noting the worry in Peters's eyes. He allowed his shoulders to relax slightly.

"We can order the release of the sealed files containing the names of the crew members who assisted you." Beauregard threatened.

"Not if you want me to participate willingly," Picard bargained, praying he'd read the situation correctly. "If you unseal those records, I will fight these charges and go to my deathbed denying the involvement of any of my crew."

"Captain Picard, the agreement requires us to supply those who aided and abetted you," Peters said. His voice remained calm, but there was a tension around his eyes that hadn't been present a moment ago. Picard allowed a glimmer of hope to ignite in his chest; he just might be able to protect Worf and Beverly.

Picard shook his head. "Tell the Cardassians they're dead. Tell them my co-conspirators were killed in action during the Dominion War. If they want justice, they'll have to settle for me, and me alone."

Peters sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." The words stung his throat, but he had to say them. He needed Peters to know how much protecting the lives of his crew meant to him. _After all_, he mused darkly, _it's likely to be the last legacy I'll be allowed to leave._

"Captain Picard, you are ordered to return to the _Enterprise_ immediately. You will be treated as befits your rank and tenure within the Fleet for the duration of the journey, but you will not be on active duty and your access to the bridge and other key areas has been removed. Your command codes have been disabled."

Picard nodded. _A prisoner on my own ship_.

"Dismissed."

All six admirals rose as one and filed from the room, leaving Picard sitting—he hadn't bothered to stand as was required—alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Picard materialized on the transporter pad on board the _Enterprise_. He squared his shoulders as the young lieutenant on duty nervously fidgeted with the control panel.

"Captain Picard, sir," he stammered. "Commander, er, _Captain_ Riker requested your presence in the observation lounge as soon as you boarded, sir."

Picard nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Please inform the captain I am on my way."

He stepped down from the pad and strode toward the doors. It seemed Command had wasted no time in carrying out their orders. He only hoped they were just as diligent when seeing to removing Beverly and Worf from the prisoner manifest.

"Sir, I, uh," the lieutenant said, and Picard turned. "I just wanted to say it was an honor serving with you, sir."

"The honor is all mine," Picard replied. "Never has a captain had the privilege of serving with such an outstanding crew." He pressed his diplomat's smile to his lips and added, "Now back to your duties, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir!" he said, saluting smartly.

Picard strode from the transporter room and made his way along the corridor to the nearest turbolift. He gave silent thanks when it proved empty. He held onto control of his emotions by a thread, and he didn't think he could handle another awkward conversation with one of his crew.

_Not my crew anymore_. He balled his hands into fists.

"Observation lounge," he ordered, and the lift sprang into motion.

The lift stopped and the doors whooshed open on a short expanse of hallway he rarely used. Accustomed to arriving in the lounge via the bridge, Picard's chest ached with the knowledge that the heart of his ship pulsed on the other side of the bulkhead and he would never see it again.

_Steady, Johnny_, he reminded himself. _Get through the meeting first; then you can fall apart_.

He stepped through the doors and was greeted by the stunned and distressed visages of his senior crew. _Well, almost all of them_, he thought, noting the absence of his chief medical officer.

"Captain!" Deanna Troi said, concern lacing her voice as she stood.

Commander—_Captain_ Riker leapt to his feet from his customary seat to the right of the head of the table, his features a mixture of puzzlement and devastation.

Data, Geordi, and Lieutenant Brovnir—the current chief of security—followed Riker's lead and stood silently, staring at Picard.

Picard waved their unspoken concerns away and gestured for them to be seated.

"Not there, Number One," he said, as Riker tried to resume his usual seat. "This is your place now." He patted the top of the head chair as he walked past it and took the seat to Deanna's left.

Will glanced at Deanna as he took his place at the head of the table. "Sir?" Riker asked. "Would you care to tell us just what the hell is going on here?"

Picard sighed. "Precisely what it states in your mission orders, Will." He rarely used his crew's given names during a senior officers' meeting, but this was anything but a normal briefing, and he allowed himself the luxury of addressing his friends as such. "You are to escort me and my fellow prisoners to Cardassia Prime and then hand us over for trial and sentencing."

"This is ludicrous," Will said, smacking his hand on the table. "There has to be a way out of this."

Picard shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"I refuse to believe you're—"

Riker's words were cut off by the unexpected opening of the lounge doors. Beverly Crusher strode in, her hair wild, and her eyes no less frantic.

She made a beeline to Will and demanded, "What kind of stunt is this? I was in the middle of a surgery when Dr. Panchenko barged in and told me you—_Captain_ Riker—had called an emergency staff meeting. What's going on, Will? Where's the captain?"

Picard cleared his throat and Beverly glanced over, relief at seeing him coloring her pale skin.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Doctor," he said by way of greeting. He couldn't use her name. Not here.

Beverly's gaze darted between Picard and Will, confusion plain on her face. "What the—"

"That's exactly what we're trying to figure out, Beverly," Will said, gently. "Grab a seat and then we'll see what we can do about this mess."

Beverly nodded and chose the seat on Picard's left. She leaned over and whispered, "Jean-Luc…"

He swiveled his chair and placed his hand on her forearm. The unexpectedly intimate gesture—in public—stunned her and whatever she was going to say died on her lips. He shook his head and whispered, "Just listen, please."

-P/C-

Beverly stared at Will Riker—Captain Will Riker—in dumbfounded silence. As the meeting progressed her sense of disbelief and surrealism only increased. Jean-Luc was charged with violating Cardassian space with malicious intent? They were taking him to Cardassia Prime to stand trial? He was to be denied access to legal counsel or any other aid from Starfleet? His best chance for survival was in the hope the Cardassians kept the charge to trespassing and didn't attempt to raise it to terrorism?

"Why you?" she finally asked. _Why are you facing this alone? Why aren't Worf and I also charged?_

He seemed to understand her unspoken questions. He raised his right hand from where it had been curled in his lap and placed it on the gleaming surface of the table. He kept his eyes focused on his fingers and his words were slow and measured when he spoke.

"Because the Cardassians could no longer identify—by name—my co-conspirators. Madred's records were destroyed during the Dominion's purge of the Obsidian Order," he said. "While my name was public knowledge, the names of those who escaped capture have been sealed in Starfleet records."

To someone unfamiliar with the captain, he sounded as though he were discussing routine ship matters. To her, he sounded like someone had torn a hole in his soul.

Deanna inhaled sharply. "You mean Wo—whoever was with you was also charged?"

He nodded, refusing to look at Beverly. His hand still rested on her arm, and tremors rippled through his fingers. His control was amazing to behold, but she knew even he was on shaky ground here.

"You can't go through this alone," Beverly said. "I refuse to—"

His grip on her arm tightened painfully and she gasped.

"No," he rasped. "Please."

"Jean-Luc, you can't—"

"I can, and I will."

"Dammit, no! I won't let you—"

No one at the table breathed as she met his gaze, stare for stare. She searched his eyes for a sign, for a reason why—beyond his stupid sense of honor—he would accept the situation, and worse yet, refuse to let anyone intervene.

Then she saw it. Hidden in the hazel depths, she saw the hurt, the betrayal, and she understood. Starfleet had repaid his loyalty with humiliation one more time, and he was crushed. He didn't want to fight.

"Oh, Jean-Luc…" she whispered. The corners of her eyes stung as she turned to face the rest of the staff around the table. "What do we do?" she asked.

Geordi and Brovnir looked away. Deanna glanced at Will before meeting her gaze with a watery one of her own.

Only Data met her stare with apparent equanimity. "There is nothing we _can_ do, Doctor," he said.

Will smacked the table and said, "We have three days before we arrive at Starbase 261 to pick up the other prisoners, and a further four days before we reach Cardassia Prime." He met Beverly's searching stare and added, "We'll think of something."


	4. Chapter 4

Will Riker wore the fourth pip on his uniform with reluctance. He kept telling himself he was the _Enterprise's_ 'acting' captain, and as soon as Jean-Luc was cleared of the charges, everything would return to the way it was meant to be.

Given they'd docked at Starbase 261 more than three hours ago, and the crew was no closer to coming up with a plan to prevent the upcoming travesty, he also knew he was deluding himself.

Still, they hadn't given up. Geordi had managed to find some obscure part from an engineering console that he swore needed to be retrofitted before they entered Cardassian space, "just to be safe." None of the engineers on the base could identify the part, let alone figure out how to retrofit it to the new engines, so they'd been forced to add an extra twenty-four hours to their stop.

He sighed and tugged on the hem of his uniform top. He suspected it still wouldn't buy them enough time.

"It's not your fault, Imzadi," Deanna whispered as she took her seat next to the captain's chair.

Will shook his head. "It's not right, either."

"No," she agreed. "Yet, I cannot think of anyone else Captain Picard would want to see succeed him more than you. You do him honor by sitting in that chair."

Will smiled. Deanna's kind words eased some, but not all, of the guilt that had been riding him ever since they'd departed Earth.

He'd also 'honored' Picard's memory by offering all non-essential crew an eighteen-hour furlough on the station. Knowing how much the crew loved their captain, he guessed the bars on Starbase 261 were doing a brisk business.

Part of him wished he could be there, too.

"Sir," Lt. Brovnir said, addressing Riker from his position at the top of the horseshoe. "We are being hailed by the station. It's a request to speak to you personally."

Riker frowned. "We've already signaled our acceptance of the transfer of prisoners." He glanced at Deanna. "What do they want now?"

Deanna gave him a look that clearly indicated there was only one way for him to find out.

"On screen," Riker ordered.

"Aye, sir," Brovnir replied.

The high-definition view of the side of Starbase 261 disappeared and was replaced with a familiar, and deeply missed, face.

"Worf!" Deanna gasped.

The Klingon scanned the bridge and nodded to those on duty whom he recognized. Riker thought he caught a flicker of disappointment in Worf's eyes, and he realized that due to his posting on DS9—and the horrible attrition caused by the Dominion War—the Klingon probably knew less than an eighth of the _Enterprise's_ current complement.

"Captain Riker," Worf said. "It is good to see you again, sir."

"Worf! Not that I'm not happy to see you," Riker said, the first genuine smile touching his face in days, "but what the hell are you doing on Starbase 261?"

Worf cleared his throat before answering. "I am hoping you will grant me permission to come aboard, sir."

Will's smile faded. "You've heard then."

"Yes." A low growl rumbled from Worf's throat, as he added, "It is unacceptable."

The old Worf would have raved about his Klingon honor requiring him to lay down his life in defence of the captain. Will raised an eyebrow and his eyes glittered as he glanced at Deanna. It seemed their friend had learned some measure of diplomacy in his years away.

"It's good to see you again, Worf," Deanna said, giving Riker a chance to order his thoughts.

"And you, Counselor." Worf turned his attention back to the captain. "Sir? Permission to come aboard?"

"Aren't you still stationed near Bajor?" Riker asked, needing to make sure Worf hadn't abandoned his post in a misguided attempt to rescue Captain Picard. He loved Worf like a brother, but the last thing he needed on this trip was a fugitive Klingon with nothing to lose.

"Due to the situation," Worf said, his deep bass rumbling through the deck under Riker's feet, "I felt it was time I took some of the personal leave owed to me."

"Oh?" Deanna asked. "How much?"

"All of it."

Riker smiled and nodded. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Worf."

"Thank you, sir."

"No," Will said, his smile fading. "Thank you. This will mean so much to—"

Will broke off, overcome with a suddenly too-tight throat.

"It will be great to have you on board again, Worf," Deanna said, smoothly stepping in. "We'll have Data arrange quarters for you."

Worf nodded and then cut the transmission. The screen returned to its original starbase-filled vista, and Will turned to Deanna. "This could get interesting."

Deanna smiled. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to go meet him at the air lock." She paused. "I think he deserves to be forewarned about some of the details surrounding the situation."

"Good point, Counselor," he replied. "We wouldn't want our friend to be overheard saying things best left unsaid."

"I knew you'd understand," she said and then turned to walk up the ramp. She stopped after three steps and spun to face Will. "Do you think I should try to get everyone together for a meal?"

Will chewed on his lower lip. He knew Worf would make seeing the captain his first priority, and everyone else on the senior staff would be clamoring to catch up with the Klingon, but… "Why don't you run it by the captain before you suggest it to anyone else?"

-P/C-

It had taken a fair bit of cajoling, but Picard had finally acquiesced to joining the senior staff for dinner. His relationship with his friends and fellow crew members had shifted over the past few days, and he no longer felt at ease in social settings.

_They all look at me as though I'm dying_, he thought.

Even the time he was able to spend with Beverly was becoming strained as they tried to cope with the upcoming separation the same way they coped with every other uncomfortable aspect of their relationship: by ignoring it and hoping it would just go away.

He glanced at his lunch companion and regretted thinking such an unkind thought. He knew she was doing her best to set aside her own feelings about the situation, and it wasn't entirely her fault they'd gotten into the habit of refusing to discuss anything that would disrupt their equanimity.

He was just as much to blame.

"Penny?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

He took her slender fingers and rubbed his thumb across the back of her knuckles. "I apologize, Doctor. I'm afraid I am a poor mealtime companion."

"Nonsense." Beverly smiled and squeezed his hand. Her unwillingness to break eye contact with him told him she wasn't going to accept no answer as a response though.

He sighed. "I was thinking about Counselor Troi's plans for dinner tonight."

"You're worried it's going to be awkward at best, and maudlin at worst."

He gave her a half smile.

She shifted her seat at the table so she could place her free hand on his forearm. "I don't know what to tell you," she said. "Part of me wants to say you're entitled to spend your remaining time on the _Enterprise_ however you wish, but another part understands how much your friends want to spend time with you," she paused, "before the opportunity is lost."

"Beverly…"

She squeezed his arm.

"I would never begrudge time spent with my friends. It's just," he said, looking past her, searching for the right words, "I am unsure of how useful it is for us to sit around and lament a situation we cannot change."

"We're trying—"

He shook his head. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate the efforts on behalf of the crew. I'm saying there comes a time when we must admit defeat; there are no loopholes, no last-minute reprieves, no escape clauses." He placed his hand over the one squeezing his forearm. "As unpleasant as the approaching trial is, it is something I must go through with."

"But you don't have to do it alone."

"Do you honestly believe I could live with myself if I let you, or Mr. Worf, or anyone else suffer simply to avoid meeting my fate on my own?"

The softness in Beverly's blue eyes shifted into something sharper. "And just how do you think those of us left behind are supposed to live, knowing we let you go? Alone."

She worked her throat and blinked several times.

"Beverly, I—"

"No, Jean-Luc," she interrupted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. This isn't fair for anyone; least of all you."

"You're right though," he replied, gently. "Mine is not the only life about to be irrevocably changed."

He withdrew his hands from hers, and pulled his napkin from his lap. He carefully wiped his lips before setting it on the table. He stood and offered his hand to Beverly, who quickly followed his lead with her napkin before taking his hand and standing.

"I will make the best of tonight's dinner," he said as he led her toward the door.

"Jean-Luc, you don't have to—"

"On one condition," he said, interrupting.

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "And that would be?"

"You and Lt. Cmdr. Worf join me for a drink in my quarters afterward. I believe we have some things to discuss that should not be said in front of the others."


	5. Chapter 5

Jean-Luc opened the bottle and set it on the table to breathe before taking a seat in the chair next to the couch. Beverly sat in her customary spot on his sofa, and Worf sat in the chair opposite her.

He studied his companions—committing as many details to memory as possible—before preparing to speak.

"I want to thank—"

"Jean-Luc, I—"

"Captain, this is—"

They all stopped speaking and he chuckled. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

Beverly smiled and Worf nodded.

"I want to begin by thanking both of you," Jean-Luc said. "Not only for your exceptional service, but for your loyalty and your friendship. I know you are puzzled, and perhaps a little hurt, by my refusal to allow your names to be added to the prisoner manifest, and I want you to understand my motivation for doing so."

He leaned forward and poured the wine into the three glasses on the table. They each took one and sipped. Picard nodded his approval before setting his glass on the table again.

"Sir," Worf said, "your decision does not surprise me."

"No?"

"No." Worf shook his head. "You have always put the lives of your crew above your own."

Picard nodded.

"However," Worf added, "even though I understand it, I do not support your decision."

"Neither do I," Beverly said.

"Oh?" Picard asked, curious.

"No, sir," Worf said. "It was because of my failure to protect you that you were captured by the Cardassians in the first place. Your decision to protect me from facing the consequences of my actions means I will fail to stand with you once again."

"That is not at all how I see it, Mr. Worf."

"Perhaps not, sir," Worf said. "But your perspective cannot change my reality."

Picard shook his head. Worf's time on DS9 had served him well. His brash security officer had softened around the edges and was proving to be an able senior officer. If he'd had any say left in Starfleet, he'd have put in a word to have Worf given a diplomatic posting—perhaps to the Klingon homeworld—to allow his friend to put those skills to good use.

"It _was_ selfish of me," Picard admitted. He reached for his glass and slowly twirled the stem between his fingers. "And perhaps unfair."

"Then why?" Beverly asked, almost in a whisper.

He shifted in his seat to address her more directly. "Our mission was to find and destroy the metagenic weapons. My job—and that of Lt. Cmdr. Worf—was to protect you and see that you were successful. Neither Worf nor I had the knowledge or capability to safely deal with whatever labs we might have found."

"But there weren't any labs."

"That is irrelevant," he said. He turned to Worf. "Even though I was your captain at the time, we both know our primary mission was to keep the doctor safe until such time as we confirmed the destruction of any and all metagenic weapons."

Worf nodded.

"You did not fail me by avoiding capture. You followed the parameters of the mission as it was assigned." He paused and met Beverly's eyes. "You both did."

She shook her head. "Leaving you behind was wrong. I've regretted—"

"No," he said, interrupting. "You gave the correct order given the situation. We all know that sometimes in our careers we have to make a choice that leads another officer into harm. That's why it's a key part of the Bridge Officer's test. No one wants to do it, but we all understand it is a burden of command.

"And sometimes, we can make decisions that keep our fellow crew members from coming to harm. For me, my stand against the admirals was one such time. I have no ship, no command; yet I am still a Starfleet officer. I am duty-bound to protect my crew to the best of my ability, and that is what I have done."

"Jean-Luc—"

"No, Beverly," he said. "If you set aside all personal connections, you know what I did was right. And you know you would have done the same if our situations were reversed." He glanced at Worf. "You both would."

He leaned back and waited for the truth of his words to sink in. A thin sliver of guilt wormed through his gut, born from the knowledge he wasn't being entirely truthful with them. But he also knew their guilt over the situation would only be compounded if he admitted everything.

"I still do not like it, sir," Worf said.

"Neither do I," he replied.

Beverly sighed. "It's not fair."

"I have found very few things in life are fair, Doctor," he said with a half smile. In fact, the thirty-year friendship he had with her—the woman he had loved for just as long—was one of the universe's more cruel demonstrations of its lack of fairness.

"You _deserve_ better than this," she countered. "You have sacrificed so much for Starfleet, for the Federation. They should be celebrating you as a hero, not condemning you to death."

"And that's the rub," he said. "I have sacrificed myself many times for the ideals of Starfleet and the Federation – because I believe in them wholeheartedly. And it was my willingness to make those sacrifices in the past that has given Starfleet unspoken permission to ask me to make one more."

"You're joking," she said. "You can't seriously believe you've brought this on yourself."

"Haven't I?"

"No!" Beverly pulled her gaze from him and turned to Worf. "You've got to help me make him see reason on this."

Worf shook his head. "It pains me to say this, Doctor, but the captain is correct."

"Excuse me?"

"You have repeatedly demonstrated a willingness to do whatever it takes to help the sick, injured, and those who are suffering. It would not be unreasonable—and likely wouldn't even need to be asked—to send you into a situation and expect you to behave in the same manner, even if it meant risking your own life."

"That's different; I'm a doctor. That's what doctors do."

"And he is the captain," Worf said. "It is what captains do."

Jean-Luc watched as Beverly wrestled with Worf's logic. He'd worried about how the conversation between the three of them would go, but he was glad he'd taken the risk. It could easily have ended up with the two of them ganging up on him, when what he really needed was for both of his friends to walk away with some measure of comfort.

It seemed as though Worf had not only found it, but was now doing a far better job of convincing Beverly to accept it than he ever could.

"You don't have to do this," Beverly said, after a moment.

"What else could I do?" he asked, ready for her answer.

"You could run; go into hiding. Live your life somewhere where Starfleet can't find you."

"How is that any better than what lies ahead? I would still be cut off from everyone and everything I love."

"But you'd be free. Alive."

He shook his head. "No. Either way Captain Jean-Luc Picard will be gone. By suggesting I flee, you are asking me to give up the last vestiges of who I am; you are asking me to betray myself so you and those who care about me won't have to live with the grief of imagining my life as a captive in a Cardassian prison."

Beverly blinked.

"If I give myself over to the Cardassians, I will at least remain true to myself because I have the knowledge that my actions are cementing a much-needed alliance between our two peoples. If I flee, I risk shattering the very institutions I have spent a lifetime upholding."

Beverly nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't have suggested it. It's just—"

He reached out and she took his hand. "It's not fair," he said, finishing her sentence.

"Why can't you—_just once_—act like a selfish bastard?" she said. Her eyes glittered with mirth, and he squeezed her fingers to show he understood she was joking.

"Because then he wouldn't be the captain we know and love," Worf said, missing the private joke.

She turned her smiling gaze from Worf back to him, and his pulse skittered at the tenderness in her eyes as she added, "He's right. You wouldn't be the man we love, and that's what makes this situation so damn—"

"Unfair?" Worf asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Unfair," she agreed.

"Indeed," Picard said. He raised his glass and drank.


	6. Chapter 6

Beverly eyed the chronometer on her desk and chewed her lip in indecision. Part of her wanted time to march forward at a rapid pace so she could get through the unpleasant task of certifying each of the prisoners as fit to stand trial. Another part of her wanted time to freeze because her examination of Jean-Luc would be the last time they would see one another.

_Ever_.

As much as she chafed at Will's command, he was right. It was too risky for her—or Worf—to beam down to the planet for the trial. Her name might be missing from Cardassian records, but the appearance of a red-headed medical officer along with the captain might spark the memories of anyone who'd survived the Dominion's purge.

And there was no way the burly Klingon would go unnoticed.

"Dr. Crusher?"

Beverly looked up to see her second-in-command standing in the doorway to her office.

"Yes?"

He fidgeted with the gadgets in his hands and cleared his throat. "It's time."

_Time_.

She sighed and stood. "Let's get this over with."

Panchenko nodded. He led the way through sickbay and into the corridor.

"I have all the patient data programmed into the tricorder, so it should only take us a moment to confirm each patient's relative health," he said, hefting the tricorder like he meant to toss it and catch it. "Assuming no one has contracted a life-threatening illness in the past twelve hours, we should be able to clear them all for transport in under an hour."

_Less than an hour._

"Good work, Doctor," Beverly said.

"Thank you, Doctor."

Panchenko was silent for the remainder of their journey to the brig, and Beverly was grateful. He was only doing his job—a position he'd held for less than two months—but his clinical detachment toward the prisoners irritated Beverly.

They strode into the brig and the security guard on duty rose from her station. Beverly and Dr. Panchenko had been required to scan and report on each prisoner every twelve hours during the voyage to Cardassia Prime, and this last scan proceeded as smoothly as the previous seven.

Beverly ignored her stinging eyes as she ran her tricorder over a young woman in the last cell. She tried to block out the information in the woman's file; to ignore the fact she was a mother of two young children and had been studying at the Jungian Institute to become a neuropsychologist.

"I'm sorry," the woman whispered as Beverly entered the data on her PADD.

Beverly looked up and met the woman's eyes.

The woman, Chanelle Auxpry, fidgeted with the seams on her prisoner's jumper, and blinked back tears. Her hands shook as she reached up and ran her fingers through her black hair.

"It won't…" she started. "They won't…" She pulled her hands back down and balled her fingers into fists. "Will it at least be quick?"

Beverly shrugged. She didn't want to get to know this woman. Didn't want to feel sympathy toward her. Didn't want to be the one to reassure her.

"Please," the woman begged.

Beverly lowered the tricorder and met the woman's gaze. "I don't know what to tell you. I hope, for your sake, and for the sakes of all the other prisoners, that you will be treated fairly and humanely."

"But?"

Beverly stepped out of the cell and gestured for the guard to reactivate the barrier. "I'm sorry."

_So sorry._

The woman's lips trembled and then curled in a soft smile. "Thank you."

Beverly swallowed past the invisible fist gripping her throat and followed Dr. Panchenko out of the brig.

He whistled softly as they headed to the captain's quarters, and Beverly fought the urge to throttle him. They weren't out for a leisurely stroll, dammit!

A thin sheen of sweat slicked Beverly's palms as Panchenko rang the chime on Picard's door. She clenched her teeth as her stomach recoiled. She could do this. She had to do this.

The door to his quarters opened and Panchenko strode in, his tricorder at the ready. "Good afternoon, Captain," he said. "This won't take more than a moment and then you can be on your way."

Jean-Luc rose from where he'd been reading on the couch and approached the doctor. "Thank you," he said. He kept his features neutral as the doctor scanned him, but as soon as he made eye contact with Beverly, he quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

She shook her head. Dr. Panchenko was a gifted physician, but his bedside manner left a lot to be desired.

"There we go," Panchenko said. "Now all we need is for Dr. Crusher to confirm my results and then we'll be out of your hair forever."

Beverly winced and bit her lip as she stepped forward and raised her tricorder. She kept her eyes on the screen, unable to make eye contact; unwilling to see the man behind the data.

Her heart beat erratically, but she managed to keep her hands steady throughout the exam. As soon as the device beeped, she passed it over to Panchenko and escorted him to the door.

"Doctor," she said, "I'll let you take these results to Captain Riker."

Panchenko furrowed his brow in confusion. "But you're the CMO. Shouldn't you—"

She shook her head. "I need a moment with the captain."

"I don't know that leaving you alone with the pris—the captain is appropriate at this juncture. Do you have Captain Riker's permission to—"

"Dr. Panchenko," Beverly said, interrupting. She clenched her jaw as she worked to bring the sudden rush of cold fury under control. After taking a deep breath, she said, "You are taking the results of our exams to the bridge and I am staying _right_ _here_. If you think Starfleet policy, Captain Riker, or any other force in this universe is going to make me leave, you are sadly mistaken."

Panchenko glanced from Beverly to Picard and back again. "I don't know—"

"Doctor Panchenko," Picard said, coming to stand beside Beverly. "As much as I admire your adherence to Starfleet protocol, I would recommend following the order given to you by your superior officer. When you meet with Captain Riker you may express your concerns over her actions in my quarters." He tugged on the hem of his uniform top before continuing. "However, I can assure you Captain Riker will have no objections over the doctor remaining here, despite what protocol dictates."

Panchenko nodded. "I will bring this up with the captain."

"As you should," Picard replied.

"I mean no disrespect, Doctor. Captain."

"None taken," Picard said.

"I'm certain Captain Riker will either enforce protocol or explain to me the extenuating circumstances surrounding this breach."

Beverly almost smirked. She'd never thought of her decades-long platonic love affair with Jean-Luc as an 'extenuating circumstance' before.

Dr. Panchenko spun on his heel and strode into the corridor as soon as the doors whooshed open. Beverly watched as he rushed toward the nearest turbolift. After less than half a dozen hurried steps, the doors to the captain's quarters closed and she lost sight of her deputy.

"His loyalty to you is admirable."

"Is that what that is?" Beverly asked, turning to face her best friend.

"Indeed," Jean-Luc replied, eyes twinkling. "He obviously thinks highly enough of you that he feels he has to protect you – even from yourself."

Beverly laughed. "With protection like that, I won't need enemies."

Jean-Luc smiled, but the humor quickly left his eyes. He held out his arms and Beverly melted into his embrace.

"Beverly, I—"

"No, Jean-Luc," she said. She squeezed him tightly and pressed her cheek against his neck. "Not yet, please."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: I know you're accustomed to one or two chapters a day from me, but I need to warn you that there will be a short hiatus between this chapter and the next ones. Don't worry, the story will be completed (hopefully within a few weeks), but extenuating circumstances are pulling me away from the keyboard for the next 3-7 days.

I do apologize for leaving you hanging.

oneship.

* * *

Beverly snaked her hands up under Jean-Luc's jacket and pulled him as tight as she dared. She could feel the pulse in his neck through the skin of her cheek as she breathed in the scent of him.

They stood like this, her arms around his back, his holding her securely to his chest, for long moments. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

"Beverly," Jean-Luc eventually whispered, his voice strained.

"I don't want this to end." She winced at the weakness in her voice. She wanted—needed—to be strong for both of them. She'd never be able to live with herself if she left him feeling guilty for leaving her.

She closed her eyes and drew her cheek up and along his jaw and then shifted until their foreheads met. She refused to break their physical contact for even a second.

He sighed and ran his hands up and down her spine.

"I am 'but a poor player who struts his hour upon the stage and is then heard no more,'" Jean-Luc said, his words forcing her to open her eyes and meet his steady gaze. His hazel eyes twinkled as he added, "'It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'"

Beverly swallowed to remove the boulder from her throat. "Your life will never, _ever_ be as nothing. Not to your friends, not to Starfleet… not to me."

"And yours has always been everything to me."

She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth before pulling back and giving him a weak smile. "I didn't expect this moment to be quite so hard."

He tilted his head and considered. "It could be worse."

"Worse?" She almost laughed. "How?"

"One of us could have lost the other unexpectedly, tragically, on any number of missions. At least we're being given a chance to say goodbye; to have some closure."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure this is any easier."

"Not now, no," he said, drawing his hands up her back until he ran his fingers along her neck and into her hair. "But later," he paused, noting her look of incredulity, "_much_ later, we will look back on this moment and, hopefully, take solace from it."

_I don't want solace. I want you to stay._

Beverly removed her hands from within his jacket and walked them up the front of his chest. They'd always flirted with the line between friendship and something more, but neither had made a move to change that during the week since the charges were laid against him. She believed with every fiber of her being that now was _not_ the moment to change their relationship, and she knew he knew it too.

Still, somehow they'd allowed the line to blur a little more during the past few days—after the evening they'd spent drinking with Worf—and now they touched far more frequently, and far more intimately, than either had ever allowed the other to do before.

She followed the contour of his chest as her fingers continued their journey toward his neck. She caressed the skin bordering the top of his grey turtleneck before running her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

"I'm not giving up," she said, keeping her eyes focused on the fabric of his shirt.

"Beverly," he replied, untangling his hands from her hair and placing them on her shoulders, "that's not wise."

She shook her head. "No, but I can't give up. Not on you." _Not on us._

"If my sentence is not execution, it is still unlikely I will live to serve out my years," he said. "You may not have noticed, but I am not a young man. A twenty-five-year sentence will put my age far in excess of the average human life expectancy."

"There's a chance of parole, appeal—"

"Beverly, please, you cannot do this to yourself."

Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. "I know, but right now the alternative seems so much worse."

Jean-Luc traced his thumbs across her cheekbones. "Then let's not do it."

"What?"

"Let's not say goodbye."

"Jean-Luc, what are you suggesting?" she asked, a desperate hope against hope flickering in her chest.

He shook his head. "I'm still leaving." She bit her lip and cursed herself for letting her fantasies take control of her reason. "However," he added, smiling the smile he reserved solely for her, "there is no requirement we say the words. If you are uncomfortable with farewells, then we will simply enjoy one another's company until such time as—"

Jean-Luc's words were interrupted by the door chime.

Beverly froze, afraid to breathe. If they didn't move, if they didn't allow time to keep marching forward, maybe the chime wouldn't ring again and their last moment together wouldn't be over.

The chime rang again.

Her feelings of abject terror and loss were mirrored in his eyes, and she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't tender—there was no time for tenderness—but it carried every ounce of feeling she had for him. He returned the kiss with the same passion and her heart shattered all over again.

The chime rang a third time, and Jean-Luc's grip on her shoulders relaxed. She spun from his arms and stood—her own arms cradling her chest as her world threatened to collapse—with her back to the door.

"Captain," Captain Riker said, after Picard triggered the door's mechanism. "Doctor," he added after a pause. "I'm sorry. I tried to delay this as long as possible."

Beverly kept her head bowed and eyes closed as Will and Jean-Luc spoke. The fewer senses she used during the exchange, the less real it would be in her nightmares.

"I understand, Will," Jean-Luc said, his voice thick. "And I—we—thank you."

"If you're ready…"

"Lead the way."

She heard Jean-Luc step into the corridor and she turned to follow. She would never have another moment alone with him, but she'd be damned if she'd miss seeing him off at the transporter pad.

Even if every step was like a blade slicing between her ribs.


	8. Chapter 8

Jean-Luc kept his steps measured and resolute as he walked beside his former first officer. He refused to allow his mind to wander into the future. Right now, this moment, he devoted his considerable mental acumen to memorizing every detail: from the texture and weave of the carpet under his boots, to the hum of the engines as the ship lazily orbited the planet below.

Cardassia Prime.

His mind skittered away from the name. There'd be time later to ponder his future. For now he had to stay in the present.

The corridors were curiously empty as they made their way from his quarters to the transporter room, and Picard idly wondered if Will had ordered them cleared for the journey. The thought touched him. Riker would know how uncomfortable a public send-off would make him, and his friend's efforts to reduce the stress of an already unbearable situation meant more than he had words for.

The three entered the turbolift and Riker said, "Cargo Bay Four."

Beverly stiffened and whispered, "Will, no," as Picard's mind struggled to make sense of their unexpected destination.

"I was under the impression I was to be beaming down to the planet," he said, glancing at Will.

Will Riker cleared his throat and then spoke. "You are, sir."

"Then what—"

"Dammit, Will," Beverly interrupted. She stepped in front of Picard and faced Riker square on. "Why couldn't you respect his wishes?"

A chill of apprehension pricked along Jean-Luc's skin as Will tugged on his beard and took an unconscious step back from the nearly-seething doctor.

"Doctor?" Jean-Luc asked.

"I tried," Will said, raising his hands. "I swear I tried. I didn't want this either."

"You're the captain!" she said. "You had complete control over this."

"Will?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Not if I wanted to prevent a mutiny."

Beverly snorted. "Spare me your theatrics, _Captain_. What you've done is totally unacceptable, and you know it."

"Would someone please tell me what is going on here?" Jean-Luc demanded.

"I'm sorry, sir," Will Riker said, tugging down the hem of his uniform top. "I'm afraid the plans for your private departure were changed."

Jean-Luc felt the first stirrings of unease as the lift stopped and the doors whooshed open. No one moved to disembark.

"How so?"

"I was given to understand there would be significant discontent from the crew if you were to leave without giving them a chance to say goodbye."

Jean-Luc groaned.

"I know, sir," he added. "This goes against everything you said you wanted, but I swear I would have faced a mutiny if I hadn't relented." He shrugged as Beverly crossed her arms and continued to glare at him.

"They're Starfleet officers," Jean-Luc said. "My crew would never mutiny."

"That's just it, sir," Will said. "They're _your_ crew. You're the one who has pulled them through more scrapes than it's possible to count. You're their leader; you're the one who's brought them home time after time. They would do anything for you and, right now, what they want is to show you—one last time—how much they love you."

Jean-Luc's stomach roiled. "I expressly stated I did not want a fuss or a spectacle."

"Which is why there was never a ceremony or to-do in Ten Forward, sir," Will said. "I've done my best to make this transition as painless for you as possible, but I also have a duty to the ship and her crew."

"Will, don't you see?" Beverly asked. She glanced at Jean-Luc before continuing. "You've done exactly what Starfleet is doing. You're asking him to sacrifice a part of himself for the wants of others. Hasn't he given enough?"

"Doctor, let's be frank," Will said, stepping into the corridor. "Morale on this ship is going to be in the tank once the captain's trial is over and we leave orbit with a bunch of Guls in our brig. It's my responsibility to do whatever it takes to fix that. And if that means asking Captain Picard to acknowledge the dedication of the crew who served him one last time, then I will. It won't boost morale, but giving everyone a chance to say goodbye to their captain—their legend—will help speed up the healing process."

"I don't—"

Jean-Luc placed his hand on Beverly's arm and squeezed. "It's all right, Doctor."

She turned, puzzled.

He sighed. "If I were in Captain Riker's position, I probably would have bowed to the crew's pressure as well. I can see how allowing the crew to be a part of this will benefit the ship, and their well-being has always been my paramount priority." Will's shoulders relaxed slightly and Jean-Luc smiled. "Just promise me, Number One, that I will not be expected to make a speech."

Will shook his head and grinned at the use of his old title. "No, sir. All they asked was to be present when you beamed down. Nothing else has changed from the original plan."

Picard nodded.

-P/C-

Deanna Troi studied the figures of more than five hundred Starfleet officers as they stood at ease. She marveled at the maelstrom of emotions whirling forth from a group of silent—and utterly motionless—people. She kept her empathic shields raised, but that was not enough to prevent the sensation of being emotionally buffeted like a cork in an ocean storm.

The cargo bay had been cleared to allow all interested personnel to fall in for what amounted to an antiquated display of respect. She doubted anyone there had stood in formation since their graduation from the Academy. There hadn't been enough time to organize a formal plan for who would stand with whom—Will had only caved and granted permission two hours prior—so the ranks were filled with random placements of red, blue, and gold.

Deanna turned as the cargo bay doors slid open. She instantly reached for the familiar safety of Will's mind as he led the captain and Beverly into the room. His thoughts were as turbulent as the crew standing behind her, but at least his was a single mind; and one she'd known—intimately—for decades.

Will stopped in front of the senior staff and nodded to Data. The android raised a ship's whistle to his lips and piped a short series of notes. As one, every crew member in the cargo bay snapped to attention.

Jean-Luc Picard strode into the room as far as the 'honor guard' standing less than a dozen paces in front of Deanna. The crew on the ship would see an honor guard for their illustrious captain, and the Cardassians—when the group beamed down—would see the gaolers sent to make sure Picard didn't try to escape.

Deanna followed Will's tumultuous thoughts as he wrestled with his own sorrow at losing his friend and commanding officer. His sadness was like a heavy velvet cloak pressing down on his shoulders, and she wished she could ease his burden.

Under the sorrow another emotion emerged: fear. More specifically, self-doubt. With the strain of the mission—and the crew's lack of success at finding a loophole—Deanna hadn't noticed how daunted Will was by the prospect of command.

_Not command itself_, she corrected. _He's afraid he won't measure up to the legend of Jean-Luc Picard_.

Deanna's heart went out to both men, but her own chest was just as heavy. She didn't worry too much about Will—he would be fine; a capable captain—but she was experiencing a lot of anxiety over what might happen on the planet once the captain's trial began.

She didn't see how it could end well for the captain, which meant she didn't see it ending well for her friends and the rest of the crew either. The men and women in the ranks would adjust, and life would go on for them—just as it would for those on the senior staff—but the loss of the captain would still be keenly felt.

Picard turned on his heel so he stood among his guards, facing Will and the rest of the senior crew. Jean-Luc gave a curt nod and the familiar shimmer and whine of the transporter filled the silence in the cargo bay. Deanna's chest felt too tight as she watched him disappear.

She hadn't expected any last words – they'd all said their farewells in private, as he had wished.

Deanna glanced at Worf, whose scowl betrayed every ounce of rage and sorrow he felt about turning Picard over to the Cardassians. She knew the captain had said something to the Klingon to help him face this moment with little guilt or self-recrimination, and she was relieved to see it seemed to be working.

Will gestured to Data and he piped the command for standing at ease. As she shifted position, Deanna turned her thoughts to the person feeling the loss of Jean-Luc most keenly. Beverly would need her in the coming weeks more than anyone else on board. Not only was she forbidden to attend the trial, but she was by far the captain's closest companion.

Deanna suspected Beverly would feel as though she'd been widowed again, and the counselor didn't relish having to pick up the pieces. She turned to give her friend a reassuring smile and realized Beverly had ignored protocol and was already gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Will Riker surveyed the officers sitting around the table in the observation lounge and nodded to himself in approval. It had been a week since the captain beamed down, and the Cardassians were in the process of trying and sentencing the other prisoners. Of course they were saving Picard for last; they wanted a grand finale.

All his senior officers showed subtle signs of stress—well, all but Data—but their consummate professionalism prevented it from impacting their abilities to perform their duties. Even Beverly seemed to be holding up well.

Deanna assured him Beverly was sleeping, wasn't burying herself in work, and was still running rehearsals for the play she'd begun directing shortly before the charges against the captain had been laid. He'd asked Deanna if Beverly's seemingly well-adjusted behavior was normal, and Deanna's reply had given him pause. She said Beverly wasn't living in denial per se, but that she likely was refusing to accept the truth of the situation; and wouldn't until the Cardassian court rendered its verdict.

He hadn't wanted to ask, but as captain he had to. "What then?"

Deanna had shaken her head. "I don't know. She left Starfleet when Jack died. I don't know how losing the captain—truly and permanently losing him—will affect her."

He'd frowned. "We've all lost friends—close friends—before."

"They're more than friends," she'd replied.

"Oh?" Despite the situation, Deanna's revelation piqued his curiosity.

"Not that way, you Neanderthal," she'd said, playfully slapping his arm. "There's more to love than physical intimacy. Despite their lack of telepathy, they are as closely bound as any Imzadi."

He'd pondered that for a while after Deanna had left his ready room. Try as he might, he couldn't imagine having an intimate relationship with someone without being able to physically express his feelings. He also couldn't decide which would be worse: losing someone that close with whom he'd been physically intimate, or losing someone that close where he'd never had the chance to express his love.

Will brought himself back to the present and gave Beverly a genial smile when she made eye contact. She was like a sister to him, and his need to protect her from harm further aggravated his feelings of impotent frustration regarding his inability to save the captain. Yet, he knew her feelings ran much deeper. Seeing the haunted look in her eyes made him resolve to work with Deanna to help get his CMO through the situation, no matter the fallout.

-P/C-

Jean-Luc grunted as the Cardassian's fist slammed into his solar plexus. Air shot from his lungs in a single, massive rush, and his stunned diaphragm refused to let him draw in a fresh breath. He wheezed and sagged against the guard holding him upright.

"Name," the Cardassian said, absently rubbing his knuckles.

Stars swam before Jean-Luc's eyes, and try as he might, he couldn't get his breath back.

The Cardassian struck him again. Jean-Luc groaned and would have doubled over if not for the guard's iron grip on his arms.

"Name."

"Picard, Jean-Luc," he rasped. He found he could breathe again as long as he took quick shallow breaths.

"Rank."

"Captain."

"Posting."

"None."

The Cardassian whipped his arm back and struck Jean-Luc across the face.

"You are Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _USS Enterprise_," he said, snarling.

"I was," Jean-Luc whispered. He probed the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

"Say it."

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _USS Enterprise_."

"Say it again."

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _USS Enterprise_."

The Cardassian paced in front of Jean-Luc, apparently considering his next words.

"You deliberately infiltrated a Cardassian colony with malicious intent," the Cardassian said, as though expecting Picard to agree.

Jean-Luc stared at his interrogator.

"You _deliberately_ infiltrated a Cardassian colony with malicious intent," the Cardassian repeated. He raised his arm to strike Jean-Luc again.

"I infiltrated a secret Cardassian outpost—"

The Cardassian's fist crashed into the side of Jean-Luc's skull and the room dissolved into blackness.

-P/C-

"Where are we with the trials?" Will Riker asked, directing his attention to Data.

The android cocked his head and replied, "The Cardassians have tried and sentenced the three Maquis. Their executions are scheduled for 0800 hours tomorrow."

"Isn't there anything we can do for them?" Will asked, knowing Deanna or Beverly would ask if he didn't; even though they all knew the answer.

Data shook his head. "No, sir."

"And the others?" he asked. "The Dominion sympathizers?"

"Sir," Lt. Brovnir said, checking the data on his PADD. "The Cardassians appear to be attempting to follow Federation protocol with regards to legal proceedings for the sympathizers. They have appointed counsel for each, and are allowing the sympathizers to construct a defence."

"Interesting," Will said. "And the captain? Has he been provided with legal counsel?"

"No, sir," Data said. "The offer was made, but it is on record that he refused."

Will frowned in confusion. "He what?"

Deanna leaned forward and spoke. "The captain has decided to represent himself?"

Will hadn't considered that option. The captain was an excellent orator and had performed well in several hearings and tribunals over the years. He could do worse than to represent himself.

"No, Counselor."

Worry stirred the contents of Will's stomach and he shifted uneasily in his chair. "No?"

"No, sir. The captain has refused to mount a defence. The prosecution will present their case and then he will be sentenced."

Will darted a glance at Beverly and he didn't have to be an empath to read the rising dread in her body language. The trial would be swift, but no defence meant no escape from whatever sentence the Cardassians decided to hand down.

"Why would he do that?" Deanna asked, her dark eyes laced with concern.

-P/C-

Jean-Luc howled and fell to his knees as the Cardassian shoved the pain stick into his back. He crawled toward the low cot in the corner of his cell in an effort to escape further punishment.

The Cardassian laughed and followed Picard into the cell. He rapped the pain stick against a metal bowl he held in his other hand.

"You know the routine," the Cardassian said.

Jean-Luc pulled himself up and took several small breaths to slow his racing heart. He wasn't sure, but he suspected he had one or two fractured ribs on his left side. He didn't know if the injuries were a result of the beating, or the pain stick, or both; all he knew was his side hurt like plasma fire whenever he inhaled.

He straightened as best he could, and kept his gaze down at the Cardassian's boots as he spoke. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _USS Enterprise_, and I deliberately infiltrated a Cardassian colony with malicious intent. My mission was to destroy the settlement and kill all the colonists."

"Good job," the Cardassian said, holding out the bowl. "You may eat tonight."

Jean-Luc grabbed the bowl and scuttled into the corner of his cell as quickly as his injured body would allow. He huddled over the thin broth, using his back as a shield in case the Cardassian changed his mind.

"Rest well, Captain Picard," the Cardassian said. "Your trial begins in the morning."

The Cardassian spun on his heel and stepped out of the cell. He closed the door and slammed the bolts in place. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the heavy bars sliding into their sockets that Jean-Luc allowed himself to begin to relax.

Jean-Luc groaned as he stood and moved to sit on his cot. He brought the bowl of broth to his lips and took a sip. It was barely warm and had even less flavor.

He drank it all and licked the bowl dry.

He set the bowl down among the other dirty dishes his captors left to fester in his prison and then shuffled to the corner of the cell closest to the narrow window. Set chest-high and not much more than an arrow slit, it provided his only connection to the world outside. He'd placed the bucket they gave him for bodily waste under the window in the hope the fresh air would reduce the smell.

Like his meal dishes, the waste bucket had never been emptied or removed. He wondered what would happen once it was full. He hoped he wouldn't be around long enough to find out. In the meantime, his one consolation was that they fed him so little, there wasn't much waste.

He gingerly lay down on his cot and pulled the thin blanket over his shoulders. It wouldn't do much to keep out the night chill—or stop the biting insects—but it was better than nothing. He allowed himself a small smile as he sank into slumber.

His trial started tomorrow.

The sooner it was over, the sooner the _Enterprise_ would leave orbit, and the sooner Beverly would be far away from the Cardassians.


	10. Chapter 10

Beverly stepped into the nearest turbolift after leaving Worf's guest quarters. They'd watched the newsfeeds of the initial proceedings together, and she'd been both sickened and angered by what they'd seen. She paced the confines of the lift as it carried her to deck eight and her quarters. Her thoughts were a jumble, and her hands and legs echoed her disjointed mindset.

The lift halted and the doors opened with a soft whoosh. She stalked along the corridor, oblivious to everyone around her. The doors to her quarters opened when she triggered the sensor and she strode inside without breaking stride. She made a beeline for the replicator and then paused.

_Do I really want to go through with this?_

Her door chime rang before she could answer her silent question.

"Come," she said, and the doors opened to reveal Deanna Troi.

"Do you have a moment?" Deanna asked, taking a few steps into the room.

"Of course," Beverly said. "Can I get you something?" She gestured at the replicator. "I was just about to get myself a drink."

The lie came easily, and Deanna gave no indication she'd detected it.

"Water, please," Deanna said.

Beverly ordered a pitcher and two glasses and then gestured for Deanna to join her in the sitting area. Beverly waited for Deanna to choose her seat before taking a spot on the sofa. She filled the glasses and then leaned back and waited.

"Thank you," Deanna said after taking a sip. "I suppose it is safe to assume you followed the newsfeeds today."

Beverly nodded, wary.

"I suppose it is also safe to assume you noticed certain things about the captain's trial."

Beverly forced her hand not to shake as she set her glass on the low table. "I did."

_Like the way he nursed his left side due to what I suspect are fractures to his ribs? Or the limp he tried to hide while walking to the prisoner's box? Or perhaps you're worried I noticed the obvious signs of malnutrition?_

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Beverly stared, unblinking, at her friend.

Deanna fidgeted with her glass before sighing and setting it on the table. "Beverly, you know as well as I do that keeping things in, refusing to acknowledge how you're feeling, is incredibly unhealthy."

"Deanna," Beverly began, letting the air out of her lungs in an exasperated rush, "I know you mean well, but—"

"But nothing," Deanna interrupted, taking Beverly aback. "You're under an incredible amount of emotional stress right now, and you need an outlet. You need to talk."

"I know," Beverly said.

Deanna's eyes widened in surprise.

"And I am," Beverly added.

"You are?" Deanna asked warily.

Beverly nodded and weighed how much to tell the empath. "Worf and I have been watching the newsfeeds together."

"And talking?"

"And talking," Beverly affirmed. "We've found a lot to discuss while following the trial."

Now it was Deanna's turn to nod. "Yes, that makes sense given the unique connection you share with the captain surrounding…" she paused, "surrounding his previous experiences with the Cardassians."

_You mean we're the only two people in the universe who left him behind, not once but twice, to die at the hands of his captors_.

Guilt washed through Beverly and she reflexively stood; her body trying to put an end to the conversation. She belatedly added, "So, while your concern is touching and appreciated, it's not necessary at this time."

Deanna set her water down and rose. Beverly moved toward the doors and Deanna kept pace. The Betazoid gave her a relieved smile and a quick hug before triggering the motion sensor.

"I'm glad," she said as she stepped into the corridor. "But I feel duty-bound to remind you that I am always available if you need anything."

"I know," Beverly said. "Thank you."

"And you'll let Worf know the same applies to him?" Deanna asked. "Even though he's not on our crew roster doesn't mean he's not entitled to counselling services."

Beverly gave Deanna a soft smile. "I'll let him know, but I can honestly say that what we've been discussing has been therapeutic for both of us."

Deanna opened her mouth as though she wanted to ask a question, but then appeared to think better of it. "If you're sure…"

"Good night, Deanna."

Beverly watched her friend make her way along the corridor and out of sight before returning to stand in front of her replicator. She inhaled deeply and pushed the last of her doubts and fears aside.

Worf was right: No matter the risks, they owed it to Jean-Luc.


End file.
